Descent
by Ms. Marla
Summary: He is slowly falling into insanity because of the the crimes he has not committed.
1. One

**Descent**

It starts with a blood curdling scream, ringing through the dead of night. Wild eyes fly open, darting around the room, searching for familiarity. Breath is shallow, taken in with rapid gulps, cooling a parched throat. Tremors rocket through tense muscle and the room seems to fluctuate in temperature.

"Arty?" A soft, tired voice breaks the frightened silence that has fallen. "Are you okay?" He turns to his left and feels his heart abruptly stop its uncomfortable hammering. His eyes drink in the golden curls cascading down slender shoulders.

"Minnie," he whispers, moistening chapped lips, "I had another nightmare." They blink in unison, taking in the gravity of his hushed statement.

"Maybe you should go back to the doctor," she says wearily, holding back a deep yawn. He frowns and reclines his head so that it rests comfortably on the headboard.

"They didn't help me last time…" his voice trails off as memories of sleepless nights arise.

"You didn't want help last time," she reasons, delicately running porcelain fingers down shivering arms. She remembers too.

"In the morning," he mutters, unsure of whether or not he is being truthful. Her lips are caught somewhere between sorrow and elation as she squeezes his arm. They embrace briefly and are slowly taken captive by the darkness of closed eyes.

Before long, a soft yellow glow filters through the windows, spilling onto ivory bed sheets. Cunning blue eyes open first and stare at a face hidden by a mess of tousled curls. He steps onto the expensive Persian rug; recounting the events he had bore witness to in the wondrous land of dreams. A guilty glance escapes his icy irises and falls upon the face of his beloved. She does not know what he dreams. And he is glad she can not see inside his head. As he slips into his suit, he feels slim arms wrapping around his waist, a head resting on his lower back.

"Its morning," she sighs into his white flannel shirt. He is suddenly painfully aware of the promises made during the unholy hours of that morning. With pursed lips he takes the phone from her offering hand.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o

He sits in the stark white room, staring intently at the fish in the tank adjacent to his mahogany chair. A fishbowl life must be terribly easy. Everything is so cut and dry, so perfect, so predictable. He wonders if fish have nightmares and makes a mental note to conduct some sort of experiment in later days. As he moves to pick up the latest issue of _Time_, a door opens and all attention is focused on the room's newest occupant.

"Artemis," the newest man calls out, his cheeks wrinkling with a caring smile, "Can I see you please?" It's totally degrading, but he stands nonetheless and follows the flapping white coat into another smaller, whiter office. The strong door creaks shut behind him and he feels an undeniable sense of foreboding.

"Sit," the white-coated man instructs, motioning at a chair in front of a perfectly tidy desk. The patient obeys, sitting ever so gentleman-like. There is a stillness in the air, heavy enough to bring any man to his knees.

"Doctor Torrence," he says, noting how his vocal chords attempt to hold back any words he may want to speak. "It's good to see you again." The doctor chuckles and gazes over the top of his circular spectacles, boring his deep eyes upon the face of his wealthy client.

"You don't look happy Artemis," he says, the smallest hint of a chuckle creeping into his words. The pallid man replies with a stone-faced blink.

"I am not paying you to analyze my facial expressions doctor. I am here because of the dreams; the nightmares."

"Right," he nods curtly, his grey hair flailing about, "Are you actually going to talk about the nightmares this time? I'm sure you're aware that the only way I can help you is if you agree to help me."

Of course he is aware of that fact. He always has been. Yet, he insists on avoiding the inevitable. After all, some things are better left unsaid. He relapses into thoughts of where he travels in the lifeless hours of the night. He regrets some of it, but he is completely conscience that he regrets the wrong actions.

"Artemis?"

"I don't wish to talk about it today Doctor, perhaps tomorrow?"

"Come now Artemis," he coaxes, "They can't possibly be that horrible."

"You have no idea."

O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o

_A/N: So, what did you think? Review please and let me know whether or not I should continue. This will be a short, chaptered fiction. _

_This is rated T for things that will happen in the next chapter, mainly violence and adult themes. You have been warmed._

_Cheers!_


	2. Two

_He is standing in an alley, darkness everywhere save for a spotlight which seems to be focused on him. It is a strange feeling – being on display with no one watching. Although, he does feel a pair of eyes gazing at his back intently. Without warning, he turns around sharply and a gasp catches in his throat. His eyes fall onto her._

_She is standing against clay bricks, her auburn hair messy and her eyes glazed over with lust. He can distinguish that this is a dream, as the top of her head now reaches his shoulders, but he does not mind. Slowly, as if on the prowl, he approaches her, barely taking notice of the tremendously uncharacteristic clothing she is wearing, leaving little to the imagination. His body presses her further against the wall and they lock eyes. He is lost in the magic of her mismatched irises. _

"_You came," he whispers into her ear, causing goose bumps to spread down her neck. She runs her fingers through his hair and down his cheek, causing him to flush._

"_Of course I came," she replies, "Who could possibly get in our way?"_

_Before he can reply, he finds her lips pressed against his passionately, kissing him as if it is the most fulfilling action she has ever experienced. He deepens the kiss, pushing his tongue past her lips, pinning her even tighter between his sweating body and rough bricks. He feels her hands roaming all over his arms and torso and responds with the most subtle of moans. He decides to return the favour, gradually moving his hands from her hips up to the topmost button of her tank top. _

_One, two, three, four…_

_He has nearly reached his goal of the lacy red lingerie he knows she is sporting. But then, something changes._

_Her nut brown skin morphs to milky white and bouncy curls sprout from her once-auburn locks. He looks up, only to confirm his worst fears, looking into stunning blue eyes rather than the previous mismatched shades. _

"_You," he whispers, instantly taking a step back. She looks confused and arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow in his direction._

"_Artemis?" she says, "What's the matter love?" He cringes as her words as though they are poison, spat at him by the world's most lethal snake. And then he remembers. He remembers the dazzling pretty girl with the plump lips and hooked nose. _

"_Minerva," he manages to choke out, his words tangled with rage and bloodlust, "You took her from me." She smiles serenely at his words; as though she is perfectly fine with the fact his eyes are full of murder. _

"_Of course I did Arty," she nods happily, "She was in the way of our love. The only way to get you was to remove her from our metaphorical picture. And doesn't it kill you that you'll never know how I did it? You'll never know why she stopped visiting, stopped returning your calls, stopped being a part of your life."_

_It is then that he sees it, a glint of metal out of the corner of his eye. With a quick glance, he becomes aware that a dagger lays not two feet to his right, as if it is not mere coincidence. He moves to pick it up, and although she is staring straight at his bent figure, she seems not to notice. _

_He straightens up, clutching the polished weapon in one hand and running the fingers of his other hand down the sharp blade. He moves closer to her, step by step. Each time his foot hits the ground his breathing grows sharper and more urgent. And then, for the first time, she realizes what he is planning. A sardonic smile crosses her pale lips. _

"_Artemis, Artemis, Artemis," she says, clicking her tongue patronizingly, "Do you really want to do that? Think of everything you'd lose. If I die, the truth dies with me." He considers this for a solitary moment before making his choice._

"_I'd rather be rid of your face than know the truth," he mutters dangerously. And in one swift, elegant move, the dagger is embedded in her chest. Her heart is punctured and she gasps, whether from pain or shock he is unsure. She falls to her knees, gripping at his shirt as the blood spills from her wound, soaking his expensive Italian shoes. He watches with morbid fascination as her grip loosens and she collapses onto the stone floor of the alley, her body convulsing. _

_She is crying out his name and he can't help but to smile evilly as he ignores her pleas for help and continues to watch her live her final moments. And with one final scream, the oxygen leaves her lungs, never to be returned. _

"_Done," he sighs, bending down to her still cadaver. He runs his fingers through her blood as if to assure himself that she is indeed taken care of. With a renewed air of confidence, he plucks the dagger from his chest and pockets it. He turns on his heel and begins to walk, back erect, out of the alley._

O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.

"And you dream this every night Artemis?" he asks, smoothing out the wrinkles in his white coat.

"More or less."

"And do you know this girl with the auburn hair?"

"I do," he nods, "Very well actually."

"How so?" 

"I…I loved her."

"Interesting," the white coat mumbles, jotting something down, "Perhaps you should go home and think about why you loved her. And what happened to this alleged love. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"If I survive the night."

O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.

_A/N: Yikes! That was so strange for me to write, especially the beginning. Okay, well thanks to all of you who reviewed, even if there weren't many of you. Let me know what you thought of this chapter. Cheers! _


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